There is a Lovely Land
by Gillian Beilschmidt
Summary: A story about the history (more or less) of Denmark, as a young country and then as a mature nation, and his relationship to the world-mainly to Sweden and fem!Norway, but countries like Finland, Iceland, Sealand, and Holland will show up. Minor SuFin and Den/fem!Nor. Cover image by Himaruya.
1. In the Beginning

**A/N: If you're following my Beg, Steal, or Borrow story, don't worry, I'm still working on it, I just needed a side project...weirdly enough, writing other things helps me through my writer's block, sometimes. **

**Also, I just really love the Nordics, especially Denmark. This story is about him, but it'll also focus on his relationship with Sweden, fem!Norway, and later, Finland, Iceland, and Sealand. I'm going to ****_try _****to base this loosely off of chronological events, so please let me know if there are any glaring inaccuracies (although you shouldn't have to worry about that in this chapter.)**

* * *

He barely remembered the earliest years of his life. He lacked the memories—it was the smells that stayed with him. Freshly turned earth, the heady smell of sweat on the too-short summer days, and always, always the smell of the sea, salty and fresh and full of life. Those centuries were a blur, for the most part. It was only when his people began to harvest the metals of the earth that he began to really remember. Before then, he didn't recall much at all. He made it his business to explore every inch of his land. He had centuries to do it. He didn't realize, at first, how different he was from the other children that he occasionally came across, in the scattered villages that began to crop up in the countryside and along the ocean. He didn't understand why after such a short time of playing, they suddenly shot up like little weeds, towering over him. He didn't understand why they lost interest in playing with him, and how, after more time, they would begin to weaken, like plants in the hot, noonday sun. And then they were gone. He did not understand at first. But he would.

Eventually, an older couple found him, wandering in the fertile lands of Ribe* one fine summer day.

"Wife, d'you see that?" The man, a burly, bear-like person called Bjorn Køhler by his friends, asked.

His wife looked in the direction that he indicated. There appeared to be a small child in their garden. "There seems to be a little rabbit in our vegetable garden," Hulda said, frowning.

"But a child, in these parts? So far from the village?" Her husband mused.

"If you're so curious, go and speak to the little _barn_," his wife groused. "I'm going back inside to finish the washing."

"Boy," the man called. The child looked up guiltily, his apple cheeks bulging with raw carrots. The man stepped out from his simple wooden home, chuckling a little at the sight, and called out again, "Boy!"

The child froze as he approached. He looked to be no more than five or six, with long, golden hair, riddled with twigs and leaves, strangely dark eyebrows, and wide, wide eyes the precise color of the Danish sky at high noon. He swallowed the mouthful of food and said, "_Hej?"_

"What are you doing here, child?" The man asked, kneeling down so that he stood at the child's level. Something about the little boy's intense gaze sent shivers down the man's spine. It was strange, and yet…he got that feeling, like he had passed through a cemetery, and brushed with something…more than human. _Could it be some god-child I've found wandering on my land?_ He wondered. The child looked ordinary enough, and yet…

"Exploring. I am claiming this as my own," the little boy said imperiously, gesturing to the land with a wide smile.

The man chuckled. What an audacious _barn_. "Are you now?" He asked. "What is your name, little one?"

The child smiled widely, all snaggle teeth and chapped lips. "Mathias," he said in a clear tenor voice. And suddenly, it clicked in his head. Mathias, like the child in the legend*. The child that walked with the gods, that lived forever, that had been to the great halls of Valhalla and back. So the legends were true. Bjorn was a very pious, superstitious man, but his wife was even more so. Both of them had grown up hearing the old legends, older even than the stories of the gods, about humans who seemingly lived forever, humans that were somehow tied to the land. And this particular child, who looked like a fay from some ancient folk tale, with his far-seeing eyes…

"Mathias?" The man repeated, scratching his scraggly beard in contemplation. "I see. And how old are you, _søn_? To be wandering on your own like this…"

Mathias grinned, looking like a right little savage. He looked like he'd never seen a bath in his life. "Oh, awhile," he answered cheekily. "Do you have anything to eat?"

Bjorn's smile widened. "Come inside for a bit," he suggested, offering his hand to the little boy. Mathias took it happily, and followed him inside.

And that was how Mathias found a home, temporarily at least. He helped his foster parents tend to their small garden, shear the sheep, and mind the house. Occasionally he went to the small village to trade carded wool for new tools or food they didn't grow themselves. People whispered about him, called him a changeling child, as he didn't seem to grow like the other children. Over time, he grew a very little, and yet, he somehow knew more than even the oldest bards. Mathias didn't really care for the villagers. He loved his parents, and that was enough for him, for now. And yet…

He couldn't miss the signs of aging. His beloved papa required a walking stick, and Mama Hulda could no longer chase down stray sheep like she used to, when he first moved in with them. Mathias didn't mind. He liked to help them out, and when he was done, he liked to sit outside the house on the hill that overlooked the rest of the lowlands and watch the great birds from the north pass over in search of warmer climates. And he felt that itch inside of him, that need to roam again. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his mama and papa sitting comfortably in the one-room hut, arguing over what was for supper. He smiled. He would be back in time for supper, he reasoned.

Later, he would swear that he had only been gone for a few days. He had been captivated by a wild hare, and chased it all the way to…well, somehow he ended up at the sea. By the time he made it back home, they were gone.

"Papa?" He cried, when he saw the familiar sloping thatched roofs of his village. "Papa Bjorn? Can you tell me where my papa is?" He tugged on the long, sweeping robes of the villagers, but none of them looked even remotely familiar. "My mama? Can you tell me where Hulda is?"

Finally, one very old woman recognized him. "Mathias?" She exclaimed, upon seeing the despairing little boy in the middle of the market place. "Is that you?"

He squinted at her, trying to discern a face behind all those wrinkles. "_Ja_, I am Mathias," he said, sounding uncertain for once. "I am looking for my papa and mama! Do you know where they are?"

She knew. She had been only a child when she last saw him, but she remembered. Everyone remembered Mathias.

"But how…" He stood in the tiny cemetery, staring at the two small, crudely marked rocks that indicated the place where his parents now lay. "I only left for a few days…they weren't so old…"

"Mathias, you were gone for years," the woman said, taking pity on the child. "Your parents searched the neighboring towns for months for you. They didn't know what became of you."

He turned to her, tears brimming in his bright blue eyes. "I didn't know," he protested, a heartbreaking expression on his deceptively young face. "I forgot…you don't live as long…as me." He hung his head and pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders, so that his face was hidden underneath the woolen hood. "Why…why do they die so quickly?"

"Mathias," the old woman said. She knelt down next to him in the dirt and bare grass of the cemetery and gently cupped his little face in her bony hands. "You know you are not one of us."

Hiccupping slightly, he nodded. "But what am I?"

She hesitated. "A _land_," she said finally. "You understand?"

He shook his head. "No," he huffed. "I don't understand why I get to live so long and why they…" His eyes flickered to their graves and away again, filling rapidly with tears. "I don't understand why they have to die!"

"I wish I knew," she told him honestly. "But I do not know these things. Only Odin does."

Mathias swallowed hard, and the woman's heart broke as the child forced himself not to cry. He shook her hands off and went to kneel by his parents' graves. "_Farvel_," he whispered, running his dirty fingers over the worn stones. "_Jeg er ked af det_." He searched around for a moment before he found what he was looking for—a patch of flowers grew a few feet away, and he plucked them without hesitation, gingerly placing the bundle of red clovers on top of the smooth markers. He turned to the woman, remembering the few manners that Hulda had managed to teach him, and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, with a crooked smile. "Be safe, little one."

He nodded, and with a final, heavy glance at the fading markers, he took off running as hard as he could in the opposite direction. He made a promise to himself that for as long as he lived, he would never become attached to humans again. They just faded too quickly for him, and he was tired of it. He made it all the way to the sea, only a day's journey but nonetheless a hard one for a child on foot, and collapsed on the beach. He slept that night under the stars, dreaming of his papa and mama one last time. _Jeg er ked af_, he thought, as tears streamed down his cheeks for the second time that day before sleep claimed him.

* * *

_Yeah, I didn't really know how to write about the Bronze and Iron Ages...so I kind of glossed over them. Denmark had the highest culture out of the three Scandinavian countries (according to Danish websites, anyways) and developed the quickest into scattered villages with some agriculture and commerce, but it was still, you know, fairly primitive. And so I think Denmark himself would be too. _

_Also I wanted him to have some sort of a family before he met Sweden and fem!Norway, and interactions with humans, so I hope you don't mind my OCs too much. By the way, Bjorn means 'bear' (also I just really like that name) and Hulda means kind, but also mysterious. The next chapter will be more cheerful, I promise. I just wanted to explore Denmark's growing up and coming to terms with what he is. _

_Translations__ (terribly sorry if these are off; I don't speak Danish and I used Google translate...)_

_Barn - child_

_Hej - hello_

_Søn - son_

_Ja - yes_

_Land - country_

_Farvel - good bye_

_Jeg elsker dig - I love you_

_Jeg er ked af - I'm sorry_

_*Ribe is the oldest known town in Denmark! It was founded in the early 8th century A.D., which is more or less when I want this little scene to take place...before the Viking Age, but after the Iron Age._

_*I didn't know how normal humans would handle the idea of countries as people, so I had them associate Mathias and children like him with some of their own Norse legends and mythology. Hope that wasn't too confusing. _

_Oh yes, and red clovers are the national flower of Denmark, according to Wikipedia, which is what Mathias put at their graves...and he takes their last name later in life :') _


	2. Sverige

**A/N: Yay historical context! And we get to meet Sweden! By the way, I wanted to discuss how wild and savage the Nordics used to be. They were fairly bloodthirsty, although maybe not as much as British history would like you to believe...also, something that has fascinated me for awhile about the Vikings is something called 'berserkers', where they would either a) work themselves into a blind rage before battle or b) consume drugged foods or drinks of some kind that sent them into a blind rage. Either way, early documents describe some Vikings (from ****_víkingr_****, or raiders) as being 'more like trolls than humans'...THEY'RE JUST REALLY COOL OKAY**

**Also, a reviewer asked if Finland will be genderbent. Nope! I do plan on writing a little SuFin later on, whenever Finland appears (no idea when that will be), but as Sweden is actually the only character who is gay in canon, I don't think it'd be cool to make him straight. So yeah. Although I may genderbend Iceland. Thoughts?**

* * *

The first time that Mathias Kǿhler met Berwald Oxenstierna was on a small, quiet island called Lindisfarne.

He first saw him stepping off of his dragon longboat onto the emerald shores, a tall, slim young man dressed in a dark blue _kyrtill_ and trousers, with a simple, bronze helmet covering his fair hair. He stepped off of the boat, looking as regal as a young chief, and surveyed the island with the proprietary air of one who already owned it. A dozen men piled out behind him, armed to the teeth with spears and battle axes. He ordered something to them in a vaguely familiar-sounding language, and took out his double-edged sword, admiring the silver sheen that the dull British sun cast on it. Mathias, who had been standing about a quarter of a mile away with a group of his own men, decided to approach him now. The boy had caught his curiosity before because of his regal air, but the markings on his sword—_Sverige_—decided him. He had a sneaking suspicion that this boy was somewhat like him…he marched over to the other boy, and said loudly, "_Hej!_" He waved his own battle axe in greeting.

Immediately, the other blond tensed, raising his sword in a defensive position. His navy blue eyes watched him warily as he approached. The corner of his lip curled back in a snarl.

"_Hej_," Mathias repeated, confused as to why he didn't respond. _Perhaps he is stupid_, the boy thought cheerfully. But no. The feverish sheen in those eyes said otherwise. The boy looked him up and down, narrowed his eyes at him, and then, with a menacing stare, turned his back on him and ran towards the tiny village.

Frowning, Mathias ran after him.

The screams reached him before the smell of fire did.

He halted and looked around him, really looked for the first time since stepping off of his ship. A small wooden structure with a simple wooden crossbar in front of it leaked smoke from its interior like it was some sort of man made dragon. The acrid smell of burning wood filled his nostrils, but it was the screaming that got his attention. He saw a very old man stumble from the burning building, coughing and wheezing, clutching a small gold cross. The man looked around him frantically, eyes wide with terror, and screamed when he saw one of Mathias' men running towards him, a sword raised.

Mathias watched in mild surprise as one of his men cut him down brutally. Gagging on his own blood, the man collapsed to the ground, soaking the earth with the warm liquid that poured forth from the giant gash in his neck. The golden trinket he clutched sunk into a pool of the hot blood. His killer knelt down and tugged it from him roughly, prying his still-warm hands from it. He inspected it and grunted, then held it out to Mathias, deferring to his chief.

"No," Mathias said, staring at the body at his feet. "I don't want it."

The man shrugged, wiped his sword on the bottom of his tunic, and went to move to the next building.

Mathias watched him go. He didn't feel the same need to destroy everything that the other raiders did. He liked seeing the wooden structures and the tiny gardens and hearing the bells toll. He didn't like destroying things yet. Not needlessly, anyway.

"_Chef_," one of the older man said, grabbing his shoulder roughly.

Mathias looked up, startled out of his reverie. He gripped his battle axe and looked up at the man. "_Ja_?"

"That building there," the man grunted, pointing to the largest building on the island, a stone fortification with beautiful glass. "That is where Sven said the treasures were. Gold, jewels, furs. All of it."

"Good," Mathias said simply, hefting the weighty weapon to his other shoulder. "Let's take it." His eyes fastened on the target, and he began to feel the effect of the spiked mead that his men always drank before battle. The blood roared in his head as the building to his left sank to the ground, consumed by the voracious yellow flames. Screams filled his ears like the keening of wolves at night, and he bared his teeth in a grin. The concoction had begun to take its effect.*

He raced ahead of his companion, his small booted feet slapping the soft grass as he ran up the hill, panting with exertion and excitement. Without hesitation, he kicked open the door, startling the occupants. Several elderly men, all of them cloaked in plain black fabric, stared at him. One began muttering and crossing himself in a strange fashion immediately.

"If you're cursing me, it won't work," Mathias threatened, raising his ax. "My gods are stronger than yours!"

They didn't appear to understand. Now two of them were muttering and backing away from him, bowing their heads as they retreated. He felt filled with a sudden rage that they didn't defer to him. "I told you not to curse me!" He shouted, charging them. He swiped at the one nearest to him, but the man fell backwards onto the floor, frantically scrambling away from the demonic child in front of him.

Mathias raised his ax to behead him, but an arrow reached his target first. The old man gave a cry as the arrow penetrated the soft skin below his chin, and his hands flailed uselessly as he tried to remove it. He was dead in a moment. Angry, Mathias lifted his eyes to the rafters, and saw the boy that he had seen earlier, the one with the feverish eyes, standing on the second story, holding a sturdy bow and arrow set in his hands. The boy gave him a smug smile and turned away, no doubt in search of a new target. Scowling, Mathias looked to the cowering men in front of him and held out his hand imperiously.

They shook their hands, confused, and raised their arms in a gesture of peace. Their hollow eyes watched him anxiously.

"Your treasure," he shouted. "I know you have it!"

Finally, one seemed to understand. He was pudgier than the rest, and Mathias could clearly see beads of sweat roll down either side of his round face. He snorted derisively. He was afraid. Mathias had no respect for the fearful. The man pointed to a giant tapestry on the north wall of the building, and pantomimed pulling it back.

Mathias nodded at him curtly, hefted the ax to his shoulder, and marched over to it. He heard more of the raiders enter the large building, and the cries of the men he had just left, but he didn't look back. He approached the tapestry and regarded it impatiently. The intricately woven details of the tall, slender woman and tiny child held no interest for him. He had no time for women that were not shield maidens and barns that were too small to carry weapons. He ripped the tapestry forward, and discovered with delight a small alcove brimming with shining chalices, gilded books, and stacks of crudely minted coins. "Over here!" He yelled over his shoulder to the other raiders. "I've found it!" He turned to see if his men had heard, but they were busy executing the remaining natives. Mathias turned back to the treasures, greedily pawing the carefully crafted treasures. He reached for a giant goblet encrusted with a magnificent ruby, but a sword came down above him, nearly taking his hand.

"That one is mine," someone growled.

He whirled, jumping back a foot, and saw that it was the same boy as before. "You speak my language?" He demanded, shocked. He was certain that the boy was not with his raiding party.

The boy watched him now with guarded interest. "What is it that you think we are speaking?"

"Norse, of course," Mathias said with audible contempt. But the words felt funny on his tongue. It wasn't Norse at all.

The boy smirked again when he saw his confusion, and Mathias frowned at the expression. He raised his ax, but the boy pointed his sword at his chest, protected only by a heavy leather chest covering. "Don't," he warned.

He must be stupid after all, Mathias mused, disappointed. _For a second there, I could have sworn that he was…_

Then he read the inscription on the heavy silver blade: _Sverige. _"You're…you're the northern kingdom!" Mathias exclaimed, realization dawning on him. "I knew it! I knew you were different from these _thralls_! That's why we can understand each other!" He grinned broadly. That meant—

"We can be friends! You'll be my underling, of course, because I'm older—" But the other nation cut him off abruptly by tackling him to the ground. The slightly shorter boy pressed his knees into Mathias' chest, pinning him in place.

"If you're a country, then that means you're competition," the other boy reasoned, a calculating look in his eyes. Mathias didn't like it at all. With a grunt, he shoved the other boy off, sending his sword flying so that the two of them rolled around on the dirty floor of the monastery like puppies. The other boy clamped onto his arm in a vice like grip and attempted to pull it up high behind his back, but Mathias kicked him in the stomach, thoroughly winding him. He then elbowed him in the windpipe, causing him to choke and fall to his side, gasping for air. Mathias pounced on him, sitting on his chest and grinning down at him like the arrogant child he was.

"That wasn't nice, _Sverige_," he said, smiling hugely. Their friendship was already a success, in his mind. Danes fought all the time! It was a sign of true companionship. Why, Valhalla* was all about fighting and drinking mead with one's friends. Yes, this only cemented their relationship, in Mathias' mind. "You _thrall_!"

"Don't call me a servant," the nation called _Sverige_ growled. "And get off of me. They're going to burn this building next."

"Not until after we take all the treasure," Mathias reasoned, jumping to his feet. The younger boy breathed a sigh of relief and clambered to his feet as well, still frowning at him. "I'm Mathias, by the way! I represent the mighty land of Denmark! Hail to your new leader!"

"No," _Sverige_ said flatly, dusting himself off with injured dignity. He grabbed the goblet that he and Mathias had been fighting for, stuffed the pockets of his tunic with coins, and turned to go back to his men.

"Wait, you can't go yet," Mathias said, grabbing onto his sleeve. It was the same peculiarly dark blue as his eyes. "I don't know your name!"

"It's Berwald," the boy said, glaring at him. He shook off his hand and picked up his sword, swiping the filth off on the fabric of his trousers. He turned and yelled something at the group of raiders that stood around the now headless natives in the center of the room, and they nodded and beckoned him over. He gave Mathias a final, uncertain look, nodded curtly, and left.

"My new friend," Mathias said happily, picking up his battle axe from the ground. He collected the remaining treasure and piled it into the front of his tunic, forming a pouch, and ran out of the building. "You can burn it now," he informed one of his men, a giant redhead. "I have everything we need. Will we camp on the shores tonight?"

"_Nej_, we can make it back to town tonight if the winds are good," the giant replied, ruffling the boy's hair fondly. "Head back to the longboats, now. The winds are high, and the fire might spread quicker than we'd like." He accepted a torch from another man and held it to the building, watching with fiendish delight as it quickly devoured the wood, leaving only the blazing hot stones behind. Several years' work of construction, gone in minutes. It was beautiful.

Mathias complied, walking back to the longboats on the shore. He patted the giant, menacing figurehead of a dragon fondly before climbing into the boat, spilling coins as he went. He greeted the younger raiders that waited there, cleaning their weapons in the seawater. If they hadn't been covered in blood and burns, they would've seen like an ordinary group of young Danes out fishing. Mathias saw his new friend Berwald piling into a similarly styled boat further down the way and waved enthusiastically, but he didn't see. Not discouraged in the least, Mathias watched as the rest of his men began to leave the island, a frightful smog of black smoke following behind them like demons leaving the mouth of hell. As Sven pushed the boat away from the shore with his long oar, Mathias thought he saw a tiny figure watching him from inside one of the burning buildings with strangely green, cat-like eyes. He blinked, and it was gone. _Must be Loki playing tricks on my mind_, he reasoned. _There were no children on this island when we came_. Content, Mathias picked up an oar and began to row back to Denmark, satisfied with his first raid.

* * *

_The raid on the island of Lindisfarne occurred in 793 A.D. It was an island mostly for monks and religious men who studied and prayed, but the Church was one of the only sources of wealth, and the Vikings were pagans at this time, and didn't really have any reason to respect Christianity, and they saw shiny things that they wanted not being used, and...well, they took them. It sucked for the Christians, but it put these really nice relics into circulation again, which did kind of help early economies..._

_Also, swords were expensive and taxing to produce, so they would've been a symbol of high status among Vikings, compared to a simple spear. Denmark...Denmark just has a battle ax. Because reasons. _

_And yes, that 'green-eyed child' that Denmark spotted...was little England. (Yes, I do like to make Arthur sad in every story I write, sorry not sorry.) (Although the Vikings also struck northern France and Ireland.)_

_*Valhalla is sort of heaven for Vikings, but you can only go there if you die a warrior's death, which is part of the reasons why Vikings were so fierce in battle-they were literally fearless, because if they died a cowardly death, they wouldn't make it to Valhalla. And that would just be sad._

_Translations_

_Danish_

_Kyrtill - tunic_

_Sverige- Sweden_

_Hej - hello_

_Chef - chief_

_Ja - yes_

_Thrall - servant, slave_

_Nej - no_


	3. The Spirit of Norway

**A/N: Here, have some brotherly DenSu. I love these two so much. And we get to meet fem!Norway! That may not be a good thing, though...**

**Also, uzuki-chan, you asked if Finland will be genderbent. Nope! Can't remember if I answered that yet or not. Also, I think I'm going to keep Iceland male...still thinking on that one, though. But he won't show up for another chapter or two, anyway.**

* * *

Berwald quickly discovered that once Mathias had decided to be friends with someone, he was nearly impossible to shake off. _He could be pretty annoying, acting all superior for being a few decades older, but sometimes, he was alright,_ Berwald thought.

Sometimes.

"Stay behind me," Mathias hissed, holding out an arm to stop Berwald's advance. The younger nation regarded him suspiciously.

"Why should I listen—"

"Ssh!" Mathias turned back and held a finger to his lips, grinning. The two boys peered out from behind the thick pine tree, watching the elk that grazed on the springy moss. It lifted its great head as Berwald accidentally stepped back on a twig and flicked its ears, studying the tree that they hid behind. Instinctively, Mathias held his breath, staring at it dead on. His hands gripped the bow and arrow so tightly that he began to lose feelings in his fingers. Carefully, keeping his arms hidden behind the tree, he nocked an arrow into the bow and lifted it to his shoulder. The elk turned its head finally, and returned to grazing. Licking his lips nervously, Mathias took a deep breath, pulled the arrow back until the bow was taut, and released the arrow, nailing the elk cleanly in its right eye. The arrow pierced its brain, and the beast was dead in an instant.

Mathias whooped triumphantly and turned to his companion, grinning from ear to ear. "That's how ya do it," he said, slinging his bow over his shoulder as he marched over to his kill.

"I know how to hunt," Berwald muttered. He watched Mathias remove the arrow quickly and flinched. Mathias noticed his reaction and smirked. "What, you're not afraid of a little blood, are you?"

"Of course not," Berwald returned, frowning. "I just…don't like killing animals." He patted the great beast on the forehead apologetically, wincing when his hand came away sticky with its blood.

Mathias chuckled a little. "That's cute, Berwald. I knew you had a heart somewhere."

Berwald gave him a withering stare that made most people shrink back, despite the fact that he was not full grown, but Mathias only grinned and ruffled his hair. He then cut off its head with a single stroke of his broadsword, waiting for the blood to drain away. "This'll give us meat for a month," he said, obviously quite pleased with himself. "It'll be a pain carrying this bastard, though."

"You should've shot a smaller animal, then," Berwald said unsympathetically.

Mathias scowled. "You take the fun out of everything, you know that? I'm not going to go for an _easier_ target." He hefted the great animal up on his skinny shoulders, grunting with effort. It had to weigh a good sixty pounds at least, but he didn't complain. For a boy who looked no more than thirteen or fourteen, he was remarkably strong. "Come on, let's head back, yeah?"

"Right behind you," Berwald said, smirking at the slightly strained expression on Mathias' face.

The two boys made their way back to Mathias' camp in Aarhus, but after a few hours of hiking, it became clear that they were quite lost.

The sun began to dip behind the Danish horizon, casting maroon puddles of light upon the forest along the coast. Mathias, exhausted from carrying his kill around all day, finally agreed to rest, collapsing on the ground with a grunt.

"We can just make camp here," Berwald suggested, taking pity on his friend. "It won't be too much trouble." The smaller boy looked around and nodded in satisfaction at the ample supply of firewood. Someone had recently been through here, it seemed—parts of the forest were cleared, with plenty of smaller trees lying around, cut down by an ax. That should have been a warning to him—whoever had come around to chop all of this wood would not have left the fruits of their labor so willingly. But Berwald was tired from exploring all day, and just wanted to lie down.

"Alright, since you insisted," Mathias said magnanimously, glad that he wasn't the first one to cede to his exhaustion. "We can sleep under the stars! I used to do that all the time when I was younger!" He added happily, his blue eyes glowing with fond memories of adventures past.

"You're still young," Berwald grunted as he dropped an armload of firewood in front of him. "Start the kindling."

Soon, they had a fire going, and the two boys crowded around as close to it as they dared. It was early summer still, but the night carried with it a chill that neither of them wanted to face alone. Mathias cut off the elk's front leg and set to cooking it, singing loudly in Norse as he did so.

"I can't wait til we get to Valhalla and get to go to _real_ feasts," Mathias said happily, collapsing on an overturned log that served as his seat, next to Berwald. "With mead and fighting all day!"

"Don't you think we see enough of that as it is?" Berwald asked.

Mathias laughed. "No such thing as enough!" He declared. "Some Northman you are!"

Berwald snorted. "Says the boy who can't handle a broadsword."

"I can too," Mathias argued, socking him in the arm. "I just prefer my ax. It's bigger."

"I think you're compensating for something."

"Shut up. Now you can't have any elk."

"I don't want anything you made anyway," Berwald said childishly.

The two boys were so caught up in arguing and laughing that they failed to notice the way the forest, which was usually alive with the humming of insects and calls of nocturnal birds, suddenly fell quite still. Even the smaller animals that ran underfoot were silent. Their fire, which started out rather small, now produced a column of smoke that loomed high over the canopy of trees, advertising their presence.

It was Berwald who finally noticed that something was off.

"Mathias…" He began hesitantly, standing up slowly. He rolled his longbow off of his shoulder and grabbed an arrow, looking around uncertainly.

Mathias jumped up too, throwing the remains of their dinner into the fire. "What is it?" He asked urgently, putting a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Berwald?"

"Look," he murmured, nodding. Mathias followed his gaze and noticed a strange sight—countless glittering orbs that hovered at eye-level around their campfire, reflecting the firelight back at them. Oh. They were human eyes. And they were surrounded, by the looks of it. "Shit."

The two of them stepped closer together, back to back, looking around to see if there was a chance of escape. There wasn't. And to make matters worse, they were surrounded by thick trees on all sides. The sea lay about a mile north of them, but even if they made it to the open stretch of beach, they would make even better targets.

"What do we do?" Berwald asked.

"Fight, of course," Mathias answered tersely, gripping his ax. He raised it above his head and glared defiantly at the mysterious men in the shadows. "Who are you?" He looked directly at the man in front of him, who stood a few feet away, still barely visible in the murky shadows of the Danish forest. They were all full grown men, tall and sturdy, dressed in typical raider garb, but they didn't look Danish, or Swedish, for that matter. The one he addressed opened and his mouth to reply, but he spoke in a strange dialect of Norse that Mathias couldn't understand.

"Ah," Berwald said, relaxing slightly. "They're Norwegians."

"What? In Denmark?" Mathias demanded. "Do you understand them?"

"A little," Berwald said quietly. He addressed the same man that Mathias spoke to, and tried imitating their language. It was Norse, certainly, but it must have been a different dialect, because Mathias could only catch bits and pieces. Then, suddenly, the men closed in on them. Mathias thrust his free arm in front of Berwald protectively and braced himself to attack, but the soldiers made no move to harm them.

"Come to our camp," one of them, a reedy blond with his beard tied in two distinct braids, commanded in a gravelly voice.

"No," Mathias began, suspicious of them, but Berwald smacked him in the back of the head.

"Just listen to them," he growled under his breath. "I don't think they mean any harm. And it's not like we have a choice. Put your ax down, dammit."

"Do they know what we are?" Mathias asked in a lowered voice, lowering his weapon reluctantly but never breaking eye contact with the man who addressed them.

"I don't know." He couldn't see Berwald's face, but he sounded slightly afraid. "I guess we'll find out."

When the men saw that they had lowered their weapons, they unceremoniously confiscated them and grabbed them roughly by the shoulders, marching them away from their campsite. Mathias tried twisting his head to see Berwald, who walked a few feet behind him, but his escort elbowed him in the head until he faced forward again. Grunting, Mathias glared up at him, trying to appear unafraid. But really, he was nervous. What were these people doing in his territory? He wondered as they walked along a beaten trail that wound through the dense forest. The men were too quiet. The only sounds they made were the snapping of twigs under their booted feet and the occasional grunt of communication. Despite his slight fear, he couldn't help but wonder where they were going. He wasn't too pleased about having foreigners on his territory without consent. He would have to consult with the tribal elders about that, he mused. Finally, they left the main stretch of forest and reached a clearing. The land sloped down to reveal a smooth expanse of grass by a snaking river. Several pitched tents formed a ring closer to the edge of the clearing, with a merry fire in the middle, casting a golden glow on the otherwise smothering darkness.

The small party led them over to the camp, pushing the two boys in front of them as they approached, keeping their hands firmly on their shoulders. Some of the other Norwegians looked up with mild curiosity as they entered the encampment, but ignored them for the most part. Mathias looked around, wide-eyed. They looked more like Swedes than Danes, he reflected, but it was obvious from their garb that they were Northmen, too; they had the same type of armor and helmets, only they wore reindeer hide and boots, as they came from a colder climate. He couldn't help but be fascinated. He had never met any Norwegians. At last they came to the fire, where two figures stood pensively, talking in low voices. One was quite small, easily overlooked next to the giant next to him or her. And yet, the taller figure appeared to be listening intently. _A prince, maybe?_ Mathias wondered.

The pair looked up when the raiding party approached, and Mathias and Berwald were shoved forward, stumbling awkwardly to the ground.

The larger figure spoke in a deep, booming voice like thunder, and Mathias instinctively jumped to his feet, not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of such a powerful being. He felt Berwald grab onto the sleeve of his tunic, and the two of them watched anxiously for the chief, for it was obvious that was who it was, to speak.

But he didn't. Instead, after giving them both hard looks, he turned to his companion, and spoke in a much gentler tone than either of them expected. The smaller person pushed back a fur-lined hood to reveal a pointed face, long, silvery blonde hair, and wide eyes the color of angry storm clouds. It was then that Mathias became aware of two things: the person was a girl, and she was covered in blood. It caked both sides of her face and appeared to stem from a gash at her temple, but her hands were bloody as well.

"Are you a Valkyrie?" Mathias exclaimed excitedly. Normally, he didn't pay much attention to women of any kind, but Valkyries…he would certainly make an exception! Ignoring Berwald's warning, he stepped forward eagerly, getting dangerously close to the cloaked girl. "You must be! I've heard about your kind in legends! You haunt the corpses of the dead at battlefields!"

The girl studied him strangely, fastening those cold, dark eyes on him. She put a hand on the large man's arm at her side when he stepped forward aggressively, obviously concerned for his charge's safety. She shook her head and laughed a little, and the big man laughed too.

Mathias frowned, wanting to know what they were saying. "Do you speak Norse?" He asked her eagerly. "I could teach you! You could be my shield maiden!"

At that, the girl's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you call me?" She asked in a much deeper voice than he would have supposed.

"Mathias," Berwald hissed. "You can't talk to her like that. I think she's a –"

"You do speak Norse! You could follow me into battle!" Mathias continued obliviously, unaware that they had stopped speaking Norse as he rambled on, smiling widely. Yes, this was perfect! Every true Viking should have a shield maiden! He beamed at her, quite pleased, and looked a little puzzled when she didn't return his obvious excitement. He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her a little. "Do you understand me? What's your name?"

At this point, the tiny girl was trembling, but Mathias didn't realize that it was with rage. He laughed, thinking he had intimidated her. "You don't need to be afraid! We can be friends! My name is Mathias, and this is my friend Berwald—" He turned to wave at Berwald, who was fervently shaking his head back and forth, and when he turned back, he noted with mild concern that the girl appeared to be muttering something. The look in her eyes made him uneasy. It reminded him of the priests at Lindisfarne, and he realized a second too late that she was probably cursing him.

He stepped back, watching her with concern, as a strange blue aura seemed to emanate from her, and her obsidian-like eyes glowed with an inner light. She raised her hands and closed her eyes, and the ground beneath them began to shake. It was only when their guards turned to flee that he realized how much trouble he was in. Mathias fell back to stand with Berwald, who kept turning from side to side, trying to figure out what was happening. "Berwald, what did I do?" He wheedled. "What's going on?"

"I think you made her mad," the Swede returned tartly, grabbing his longbow.

Mathias frowned. "I just wanted to be friends—"

"I don't think she does—oh, no," Berwald breathed in horror, his navy blue eyes widening in shock. "What—what is _that_?"

Mathias followed his gaze and let out a rather high-pitched curse. Out of the ground behind the girl, the earth splintered apart_, _as if something was trying to break out. And suddenly, Mathias saw what it was. Behind her loomed an impossibly huge creature, at least twenty hands tall, almost human-like except for its massive proportions and huge teeth and fists.

"It's a troll!" Berwald yelled, turning to run. "You made her summon a troll!"

The troll turned its great ugly yellow eyes on the two boys, and lumbered towards them, causing the ground to shake with each heavy footstep.

"Odin's beard," Mathias cursed again. "What do we do?"

"_Run_, you idiot!" Berwald shouted, grabbing his wayward friend by the sleeve and tugging. "Now!"

With a last fleeting look at the girl, Mathias turned to follow his friend, and they started running harder than they ever had in their life.

"We're going to die," Mathias wailed, nearly stumbling on a branch that poked out into their path. "We're going to die—"

"No, we're not," his friend puffed, darting ahead to clear the way through the forest, furiously knocking aside debris as quickly as he could. "I refuse to die just because you were stupid enough to infuriate another country!"

"That was a country?" The Dane wheezed, splashing noisily through the river that separated the clearing from the rest of the forest. "How could you tell?"

"Idiot, she was speaking the nation language. Run _faster_," Berwald yelped, when he saw that the troll was gaining on him. "Hurry!"

The two boys sprinted through the forest, breathing hard, legs burning, but not daring to slow down yet. The ear-splitting shriek of panicked birds and loud snapping of branches told them that if they slowed down, it would be the last thing they did. Eventually, they came to the edge of the forest, barely ahead of the giant behemoth. They could hear its moist breathing right behind them. The boys raced to the edge of the land and stopped short, looking down a good fifteen feet into the swirling midnight sea below them.

"This is your fault," Berwald accused, doubled over as he tried to catch his breath.

"No time for that," Mathias returned, when he saw the beast stumble out of the forest. They locked eyes, and he screamed. "We have to jump!"

"What? Are you insane? I'm not—"

But Mathias didn't give him a choice. He latched onto the smaller nation and leaped off the rocks, tumbling into the inky waters below. They hit the water hard and sank like stones into the icy depths. Mathias blinked against the salt that assaulted his eyes, trying to get his bearings. Above him, he could see a blurry Berwald floating with his face down, back lit against the moon that shone through the water. He reached out a hand to him drowsily, trying to communicate to him that he didn't know how to swim. But then he accidentally inhaled a mouthful of the brine and choked. Black spots clouded his vision, and the last thing he remembered before blacking out were strong hands frantically trying to haul him to the surface.

* * *

_My foolish Mathias, what have you done? _

_Valkyries are pretty cool, man. You should look them up if you don't know much about them. Why was Norge all bloody? You'll find out later. Norway may be a pretty chill country now, but back in the Viking era, I bet she could give Sweden and Denmark a run for their money. She knew magic, after all. Also, every fem!Norway fic has her as pretty tiny. Male!Norway is the third tallest out out of the Nordics, but that would just make him taller than Finland and Iceland, which isn't saying much._

_Also, about the languages ..as far as I know, most of the Scandinavian countries spoke Old Norse at this time, but I also think that there were probably some major regional differences before they broke off into Swedish, Norwegian, and Danish._

_And I refer to them as Northmen because at the time, they didn't refer to themselves as Vikings (that I know of). _


	4. Making Amends

**A/N: I don't plan on being too specific about dates unless I'm discussing a certain event, but I did want to give you guys a general idea of what time frame this takes place in. Also thank you so very much to sarah. clausen. 562! I'll go back and fix the Danish! Any help you can give me would be wonderful; I don't plan on using Danish too often, but I don't want to rely on Google's translations...**

**Last note: if I butcher Scandinavian geography, please let me know. I do try to spend a decent amount of time studying maps to plan out their locations and journeys, but especially if you're ****_from_**** one of these countries, let me know if I'm portraying the landscape in an unrealistic way...thanks!**

* * *

-Tenth century, Malmö, Sweden-

After that, Mathias made a point of learning how to swim. His people had always been fond of the water, jutting out into the ocean the way Denmark did, and sailing came to him as easily as breathing. But swimming, that was an entirely different notion. He refused to ask Berwald how; it was embarrassing enough that he had to have the smaller boy drag him out of the water when he was unconscious. He was sure that the Swedish nation wouldn't let him live that down for the next few decades. After a few days of practicing with one of the northernmost tribes by the sea, he managed to swim passably well. He was a sailor at heart, and most sailors were notoriously poor swimmers, so he didn't consider it a great failing that he still wasn't very good. At least he would be able to escape from Norwegian trolls should the occasion ever present itself again.

Mathias frequently visited Berwald in his home in Sweden, despite Berwald's hints that he had work to do. He greatly enjoyed dragging him away from important meetings with his leaders to go hunting. Mathias' own leaders learned quickly that working with him was rather difficult, and many of them gave up. Berwald's leaders, on the other hand, were much more strict.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" Mathias asked plaintively. He loitered inside of Berwald's handsome log house, whittling a tiny reindeer figurine on the floor. The increasing wood pilings were really getting on Berwald's nerves, but the older boy looked so distraught that he didn't scold him for once.

"It's for work," Berwald said impatiently, tugging on his heavy duty winter gear. He looked positively dwarfed by the amount of clothing he wore. Only his bright eyes were visible behind the thick, woolen scarf and the fur-trimmed hood that obscured most of his head. "I'm going east, with some explorers."

"How far east?" Mathias asked, looking up from his carving in interest.

"To Novgorod," he answered, glancing towards the door. "Maybe Persia. I really need to go, Mathias…"

"Oh," Mathias said, realizing that his friend was kicking him out. He ran his thumb over the little statuette tenderly, wiping it smooth. He held it out with a slightly sad smile. "Here you go, then. It's a good luck charm!"

Berwald took the little reindeer and studied it carefully, a small smile dawning on his unusually somber young face. "Thanks, Mathias," he said quietly. "I'll see you in a few years."

"Yeah," Mathias agreed. "Good luck." He reached out to place his hands on the younger nation's shoulders and said seriously, "Take care of yourself, _bror_."

Berwald chuckled softly. "You're the one who gets chased by trolls and drowns."

"That was months ago," Mathias said indignantly, following him to the door. "Honestly…"

The two boys stepped out into the chilly autumn day. The sun overhead was the color of a dull copper coin in an otherwise colorless sky. Tiny bits of snow began to fall softly, gently brushing the tops of their heads and shoulders.

A group of Swedish riders came up to them, looking very serious and imposing in their dark winter clothing and tall horses. They stood out like great shadows against the pale landscape, staring down at the boys. The central rider gestured to Berwald and spoke quickly in the slow-moving, quiet language that Mathias no longer understood. He wondered when their common language had become so different.

Berwald nodded respectfully at the man and accepted the reins of the smallest horse that the rider held out to him. He jumped up on the beast's back gracefully, still clutching Mathias' token in his free hand. He gave his friend another of his rare smiles, and Mathias suddenly felt very small compared to him. "Don't do anything stupid," he said, looking down at the Dane with mischief in his eyes.

Mathias spat out a cheerful Norse curse at him, making them both laugh. He watched as the group of riders turned and began to head towards north, making their way along the shores of Lake Mälaren until they disappeared out of sight. The boy sighed deeply, feeling a wave of loneliness crash over him as he began to head back to town under the quickly falling twilight.

* * *

An entire year passed without a single letter from Berwald. Mathias spent the first week moping, until he got bored of it and took up hunting and fishing again by himself. He liked some of the young men in the town that he currently lived in, Aarhus, but he was wary of forming friendships with humans. And so, encouraged by his current boss, he made a trip to Norway, to make reparations for their unfortunate first meeting. He took his favorite dragon boat, the one he had had since the raid on Lindisfarne, a few men, and a small gift in a leather pouch, along with supplies for a month's journey, and set off.

Mathias loved the feeling of the salty wind on his face. He leaned against the frightening figurehead of the boat and watched as the land of Norway grew ever closer. He studied the giant mountains and fjords pensively. He couldn't even see the snowy crags that reached up towards the pale sky. As the boat gently bumped up against the pebbly shores, Mathias suddenly became aware of what an undertaking this journey would be.

"Where did Knud say the encampment was?"

"Up the mountains a ways," the soldier to his left said through his thick red moustache and beard.

"A ways?" The young Dane said, eyeing the Romsdal Mountains warily. "That's helpful." To be perfectly honest, he was a little nervous about making the ascent into the mountains. They were difficult to navigate, even in the spring. Still…the beauty took his breath away. Everything was either a dark, majestic blue, or lively green, with patches of snow from the long winter dotting the mountainsides like the downy fluff of birds. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sharp, piney smell of the trees and brine of the sea, and jumped out onto the shore. He had only been to Norway a few times before, and then it was usually by way of Sweden. Despite a few past alliances and minor battles with the Norwegians, he had never really gotten to know the country itself. Nor had he properly met its fearsome ruler, he thought with a slight grin, recalling the girl's angry eyes and her magic. He still wasn't entirely convinced that she wasn't a Valkyrie. He took the little leather pouch out of his breast pocket and shook the little pendant inside onto his open palm. A tiny silver miniature of the goddess Freya stared at him serenely, her intricately carved eyes managing to look surprisingly intimidating for such a tiny token. She was the goddess of renewal and war; he thought it fitting to give to the leader of Norge. Besides, all the women in his home village loved little pendants and brooches ; surely not even he could mess this up. Smiling, he pocketed the gift again, and turned to help his men pull the boat further up the shore, so that it rested firmly on the rocky ground below.

"Sǿren, you know the way through the mountains," he called to one of his men, a stocky blond in his thirties. He was taciturn but clever, and reminded him a little of Berwald.

He grunted an answer and marched over to Mathias, his heavy boots crunching against the pebbles as he moved. He pulled out a map, waterproofed by a sealskin cover, and showed it to his young leader. "We are here," he said gruffly, jabbing a large forefinger at the northwestern section of a crudely drawn Norway. "If we move carefully through the fjords, we can make it to the settlement by sunset."

"Carefully," Mathias said, snorting. "We are Danes! We don't need—"

"I would advise you to be careful," Sǿren interrupted in his gravelly voice. "These mountains are very treacherous, and the air gets very sparse the higher we go. We go slowly."

Mathias set his jaw and frowned at him, his blue eyes flashing a little at the direct order. "But—"

"Mathias, he knows these parts better than anyone here," another of his crew, a cheerful older fellow called Riurik, added. The old man slung a canteen over his shoulder and walked over to join the rest of the small group, who stood impatiently on the shore. "Besides, there is strange talk about this land. Loki plays tricks on your mind up here. There are fairies, and great beasts, and trolls—"

"I saw a troll once," Mathias grumbled. "It wasn't that scary." He didn't add that he had been running for his life at the time. "But fine. We'll go slowly. For now." Eagerly, he pulled his travel sack up on his shoulders, over his battle ax, and set off in the direction of the Romsdal Mountains.

* * *

By the time the sun began to set, they were deep into a Norwegian forest, with no trace of an encampment anywhere. His men could last for days without long rest out on the more level lands in Denmark, but these soaring mountains were much harder on them. They were sailors, after all, not used to the untraveled trails of sloping forests and jagged mountainsides. But they didn't complain, and for that, Mathias was grateful.

Twilight began to emerge above the high canopy of dark fir trees, casting a cool purple haze on the weary travelers as the stars began to come out, twinkling fiercely in the last rays of the dying day. They agreed to stop for a bit to drink from their canteens before moving on to find camp. It was when he went over to a nearby stream that he first heard it.

A strange, mewling sound.

Mathias looked up sharply from the bubbling creek, his knees sinking into the soft bank of the water as his mind moved elsewhere, looking for the source of the noise. It sounded like a small animal. His hunter's instinct made him look about, wondering if it was perhaps edible. He laid down his canteen against a rock and stood up slowly, gripping an arrow from his satchel and taking out his bow, just in case. It sounded oddly familiar, and yet, he couldn't put his finger on what it was. As quietly as possible, he lightly treaded over to the other side of the creek, cursing at the splashes his feet made in the shallow water. Suddenly, the noise stopped, and he froze behind a thin sapling, peering out curiously. His eyes passed over the pine needle-covered terrain, searching for anything out of place. Nothing. He stepped forward, causing the thing to cry out, and he jumped back, startled.

It was a tiny little boy.

Laughing at himself, Mathias knelt down in front of the little _bairn_. He couldn't have been more than two years old. He had oddly colored hair the same hue as freshly fallen snow, and wide, long-lashed violet eyes that studied him with interest. He wore similar clothing to the children that Mathias usually saw, a long cloak and trousers under a tunic, stuffed into fitted reindeer-hide boots. He shivered a little in the cool of the evening, even though it was already the fifth month of the year. His mouth was smeared with some kind of juice, as if he had been eating berries of some kind. And he appeared to be entirely alone.

"Where's your family?" Mathias asked, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

The little boy frowned, raising a chubby arm to bat away his hand. Mathias grinned at the gesture, but concern took over. The child looked quite disheveled. His clothes, obviously of a fine material, were worn and torn in patches, and his left cheek had a giant scratch on it. There were no campfires or any signs of any kind of people about, not even the native people that still roamed the fjords. The boy was silent.

Mathias frowned. "Can you speak?" He asked. Most children could speak at his age, right? He didn't really know anything about children. He barely remembered being a child himself, and he met Berwald when…well, he had been a couple centuries old at the time, but he only appeared to be eight or so. He wasn't really sure how to go about this.

The little boy didn't open his mouth, but continued to stare at him with those wide eyes.

"Mathias? We're getting ready to leave," he heard Riurik call from behind him.

"I'll be right there," Mathias yelled back. He turned to the child, and smiled. "Well, I suppose we can't leave you here," he declared. "Come on, then." He scooped him up, laughing at his startled expression. "You don't have to be afraid of me, little _bairn_! I wouldn't hurt a little boy." He held him up high above his head, pretending to dip him down above the creek. To his delight, a wide, toothy smile broke out across the boy's face. "Finally, some emotion! I was getting worried about ya!" He joked. He settled the child on his shoulders, holding his pudgy little legs tightly. He felt little hands flutter about his head, latching onto tufts of his hair, and he felt a bit like a horse as the child tugged at him. "I'm moving, I'm moving," he laughed, bouncing the child on his shoulders as he headed back towards his men.

"You found a little one?" Riurik asked in surprise, noticing his passenger.

"Yeah," Mathias replied cheerfully. "He was just wandering out there. I couldn't leave him. I didn't see anyone with him."

Sǿren regarded him doubtfully. "It could be a little faerie you've got there," he warned quietly as he stomped out the remains of the hastily constructed fire. "A little Suomi changeling. I say we leave him."

"He's not," Mathias protested. "Look at him. He could be a little Dane. I'm not leaving a _bairn_ in this forsaken forest, Sǿren. I won't do it." He felt the child's hold on him tighten, as if he were afraid, and he glared at the redheaded man. "Come on. Let's get going."

He set off with an air of determination about him that indicated that no one would be able to reason with him. Shrugging, his small band fell into step behind him, their footsteps quietly padding along the fern-covered trails through the twilight forest. There was no sense in arguing with Mathias when he got that tone.

A few hours later, one of the men spotted a column of smoke rising up from the western side of the mountain. They hastened towards it, grateful to get to a stopping point. It was getting quite late and they really needed to make camp soon. Mathias had shifted the child to his back and could feel the soft puffs of warm breath by his ear that told him that he was asleep. He smiled to himself as they approached the clearing where the smoke came from. Several tents dotted the uneven landscape, and he spotted a group of people sitting around a campfire, talking in low voices and cooking something that smelled absolutely delicious. His stomach rumbled noisily and he realized he hadn't eaten in hours.

They made their way over to the camp as quietly as possible so as not to alarm the other group. The Norwegians, however, noticed them immediately, and jumped to their feet, weapons at the ready. When they saw that the other men didn't reach for their weapons, they paused, assessing the newcomers. One of them seemed to recognize Mathias and pointed at him, talking quietly in their musical language.

Mathias waited patiently as they searched his party before grunting in satisfaction, apparently assured that they were not a threat. The tallest man eyed Mathias suspiciously, and then gave a startled cry when he noticed the little boy he carried. His eyes widened in alarm and he turned around and yelled in the direction of the farthest tent. Scarcely five seconds had passed before a slightly tousled blonde head appeared. Mathias barely had time to register that it was the same country he had met over a year ago before she appeared in front of him, gesturing frantically and yelling at him.

"I don't understand you!" He yelled back, annoyed that he had no idea what was going on. He didn't understand Norwegian and she probably knew that, so why was she speaking it? He glared at her and took a step back, wary of the dangerous glint in those sparking indigo eyes.

Her pale face seemed to register his lack of comprehension, and she switched to the nation tongue. "That's my territory you have there, _Danmark_," she hissed, her rage slowly simmering down to a quiet anger. "Give him over!"

"Territory?" Mathias repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. A drowsy sigh reminded him of the small burden he carried on his shoulder, and suddenly it clicked in his head. His fair eyebrows rose sharply as he said, "This…boy is a country?"

The young woman nodded. To human eyes, she would have appeared no more than thirteen or fourteen; she didn't appear to have grown at all since their first encounter. She stood at least a head shorter than him, and her pale hair was drawn back into a braided crown on the back of her head. She looked regal, despite the disheveled appearance of her clothes; she had probably been asleep when her sentry alerted her to their presence. "His name is _Island_," she said, holding her arms out for him. "My people found him on that island to the far north, and many of them settled there. So he is mine," she emphasized.

Reluctantly, Mathias attempted to pry the child loose, but his chubby little fists unconsciously dug deeper into the fabric of his cloak, and Mathias had to bite back a grin at the Norwegian's irritated expression. She gave him a warning look and turned back to her men, who watched her cautiously, and ordered them to do something in Norwegian. They ushered Mathias' group of explorers over to their fire, evidently prepared to accept them if their leader deemed it appropriate. Mathias watched as they settled down by the fire, relieved to be off their feet, and he felt a surge of pride for his hardy people. They had spent nearly a day and a half in the untamed territory of the Norwegian mountains, after all. He was glad that the Norwegians were willing to put up with them for now.

"Come on, then," the girl said with a sigh, seating herself on a sturdy log, as close to the fire as possible. "I don't want to wake him. He gets…quite…cranky."

Mathias chuckled, deftly maneuvering the child so that he slid into his lap when he sat down next to her. Sighing, the little boy snuggled closer to him. "He gets attached easily," Mathias noted, smiling fondly down at him.

The girl frowned, her thin lips turned down in disapproval. "It must be because you're a nation, too," she mused. "Where did you find him?"

"He was wandering about three hours south of here," Mathias replied, accepting the wooden mug of warm ale that she handed him. He took a deep gulp and sighed happily, leaning back and stretching his legs. "You should keep a better eye on your territories, _Norge._" Fortunately, he was busy looking at the quilt of stars above, so he didn't see the scathing look she gave him. "What's your name, anyhow?"

"_Norge_," she replied, smirking a little.

"No, I mean, your human name," the Dane corrected.

"Ingrid Mikkelson," she answered reluctantly. Her eyes flickered up to his face, studying him carefully, and he felt the blood rush to his cheeks under her scrutiny. He wasn't used to women of any age being so bold around men. "But I do not wish for you to call me that. Only my friends may call me that."

Mathias scowled, offended by her behavior. "You can't have that many, then," he retorted.

"I don't," she replied evenly. "They're mostly magical folk. Trolls and things." He thought he saw the corners of her mouth twitch in what was almost a smile, but he wasn't sure.

He swallowed noisily and hastened to cover it up by taking a leg of venison from the plate that went around the fire and taking a tremendous bite out of it. "Well, I am Mathias Kǿhler," he said grandly, around chunks of meat. "The great nation of Denmark—"

"Yes, I know," Ingrid interrupted.

"Oh," Mathias said, a little defeated. Her generally quiet air threw him off, as did her pointed remarks. He didn't quite know what to make of her. "What's the boy's name?"

Her icy expression softened a fraction as she turned her gaze back to the boy. Very gently, she eased him out of Mathias' lap, leaning the small child against her chest. Her shoulders relaxed and her whole body seemed to unwind a little, now that she had her territory back. Mathias wondered then if she only considered him a territory, something merely to be exploited. The oddly soft expression on her face told him otherwise. "Emil," she answered quietly, brushing a soft strand of silvery hair out of the boy's eyes. "Eh…thank you for returning him safely." She didn't meet the other nation's surprised gaze, but continued to tenderly stroke the child's hair. "He wanders quite a bit. He is rather wild, for such a quiet little _bairn_. I think he gets lonely for children his own age."

In the short time that he had known her, Mathias suspected that this was an unusually long speech for the Norwegian girl. He smiled, pleased that she chose to share this information with him. "It is a good name," he said, earning a slight smile from her. Encouraged, he took out the pendant he carried with him, and placed the small leather pouch on her knee.

Curiously, she examined it with the hand that didn't hold Emil, and asked, "What's this?"

"My leader recommended that I bring a gift for you," the Dane said sheepishly. "Since I made you angry the last time I met you."

"Yes, you did," the Norwegian agreed softly, shaking the small pendant out into her palm. She studied it carefully, narrowing those dark eyes at it. "It's Freya," she stated in a neutral tone, and he had no idea what to make of it.

"Yes, the goddess of war," he said eagerly, his eyes lighting up. He loved talking about the Norse gods. In the previous century, one of his leaders, a man named Harold Bluetooth, tried pushing on a new religion from the east upon his people, with mixed results. The number of people that converted alarmed Mathias, because he loved the old gods. He didn't want to be associated with the petty monks whose sacred buildings he had burned down years ago. "I thought it was fitting, for a powerful country." He beamed, pleased that he had finally managed to compliment her. _And Knud was worried that I would mess this up_, he thought, smirking to himself.

"She is," Ingrid said slowly, running her thumbs over the silver details. "As well as fertility."

A deafening silence descended on the two young nations, and for one of the few times in his life, Mathias was at a complete loss for words. He finally settled on a strangled "oh," and watched her in anticipation, waiting for her to place some kind of horrible Norwegian curse on him. He knew more about gods like Odin and Heimdall than any of the goddesses.

But to his surprise, she didn't curse him, or even glare at him. Instead, she pocketed the pendant, and said, "She is my favorite goddess, after Ostara."

"Ostara? The spring goddess?" Mathias asked. Again, she took him by surprise. He thought for certain that the goddess of war would be her favorite, as she was a warrior herself.

But Ingrid simply nodded, not feeling the need to explain any further. "Thank you for the pendant. Your men may stay with us for a few days, but we will be leaving tomorrow morning for the island to the south. We have recolonizing to do." She stood up slowly, switching Emil to her left hip, watching him anxiously in case he should awake. Mathias frowned a little. She seemed almost a little afraid of the child. "I will see you tomorrow, then, _Danmark_."

"The island to the south?" Mathias asked, standing up too. "With the barbarians?"

She nodded. "They are fighting off my people there. We must suppress them." Her simple, cutting words chilled him, and he recognized the power behind them. It was easy to forget that she was not simply a girl sometimes, with her slight figure and pixie-like face. With a curt nod to Mathias, she murmured something to Emil, and made her way over to the tent where she came from earlier, ducking into it deftly and disappearing from sight.

Mathias watched her go, and then turned to the remains of his dinner. Normally, he would make an attempt to talk with his men, but he was truly exhausted. He went over to the spare tent that one of the Norwegians had prepared and laid down on the bearskin rug inside, not even bothering to unpack the blankets he carried in his sack. He didn't even hear the rest of his group enter the tent half an hour later. He was fast asleep, dreaming of northern gods and the next day's adventures.

* * *

_Bye, Berwald! He'll only be gone for a chapter or two, I love him too much...but yeah, the Swedes did a lot of exploring around this time! A little too much exploring...Berwald gets involved in some entanglements...on the plus side, that means we get to meet Finland soon! :D_

_Ah and I'm so excited to finally write fem!Norway! She really interests me, and Denmark too. Also Iceland! I feel like those three will probably get mistaken for a family later on, they're both so protective of him. I can't wait to develop them more together. Get ready for some fluff! Because once I have to write about the Kalmar Union, I will probably cry._

_The island to the south that Norway refers to is England. The island to the north is Iceland. I always forget how far away Iceland is from the other countries until I look at a map...he's such a loner, poor kid._

_Denmark, you dork. You should've done your research. Yes, Freya is the goddess of war, but love and fertility...I don't know how anyone except Mathias could overlook that._

_Harold Bluetooth was a man who sought to convert people to Christianity (the religion from the east) in eleventh century Denmark. So, this is actually a little earlier than he would show up, but I wanted to mention the spread of religion..._

_I also don't think of fem!Norway as being particularly motherly...I mean, Norwegians do share common ancestry with Icelandic peoples, so I think at first, she would view him merely as land to be conquered (cause she's a hardcore Viking babe). But he's so cute and chubby uwu I think he would win her over. That said, I think ALL of the Nordics are really protective of each other. _

_The Sumi people are native peoples in the far north, mainly Finland but also Norway and Sweden (if I'm not mistaken)._

_Danish_

_Bairn - child_

_Bror - brother (ahh, the first time he calls Sweden his brother!)_

_Norwegian_

_Danmark - Denmark_

_Island - Iceland_

_Please R&R!_


	5. To the Sea

**A/N: Here, have some family time with Denmark and Norway and Iceland :D Sorry it's been taking so long to update. I've been working on Beg, Steal, or Borrow as well as my new PruCan fic...priorities :c**

* * *

_Eleventh century, Norway_

Mathias did not journey with Ingrid and Emil to the island to the south that year, or for many years later. The next time he met her, it was at a conference with the several of their leaders, in 1066.

She looked terrible.

Mathias stood inside the great meeting hall in one of the southern Norwegian cities, half listening to the heated discussion between the Norwegian and Danish leaders. Things had not been going well in the British Isles. The Saxons were giving them a run for their money, the Scots were beating them bloody, and nothing was going as it should, it seemed. Despite their superior numbers and the disputes for the English throne, the native tribes continued to fight off the invaders from the north. The Norwegians had lost a battle to the Saxons only days ago and recovered only twenty or so of their original raiding ships. To make matters worse, Norway's king, Harold III, was killed in the battle.

The two young nations sat in hard-edged wooden chairs at the front of the meeting hall on a sort of raised dais on either side of their leaders. Mathias studied Ingrid's face from across the room. Her features looked as if they were carved from marble. No emotion showed on her face as one of the servants offered her a goblet of wine. She looked even thinner than usual, and her eyes looked huge in her rather gaunt, pale face. She inclined her head when her new ruler approached her, nodding slightly as he spoke to her quietly. Something he said made her close her eyes and press her reedy fingers to her temple, looking incredibly old all of a sudden.

With a glance at his leader, who nodded, Mathias got up from his seat and went to hover by her throne. She looked up at him despondently.

"What?" She asked blankly.

"What did he say?" Mathias asked, nodding at the king.

"We've lost our claim to England," she said dully. "The Normans came through yesterday and destroyed the Saxons. Our fleet…my people…they just weakened them. Made it that much easier for them." She looked at her folded hands in her lap. They shook slightly. Without another word, she stood up suddenly, and walked out of the room.

Without a second thought, Mathias ran after her, ignoring the cry from his king to come back and stay for the rest of the meeting.

The chilly September sun shone down on the rural village, and for a moment, she was lost in the crowd of villagers making their way through town. Pigs and small dogs and children ran about, adding to the smell and noise of larger communities that Mathias always detested. He saw a flash of flaxen hair disappear around the corner of the smithy and stepped up his pace, jogging until he found her.

She stood on top of a smooth, flat stone in a ring of boulders outside of the little town, with her back to him, looking out towards the sea. He stepped up next to her noiselessly, trying to see whatever it was that she was looking at.

She sighed when she realized he had followed her. "Why did you come here?" She asked in her soft voice, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I wanted to see if you were alright," he said honestly, smiling up at her. She looked very alone, high up on her platform as she looked out across the countryside, and he wondered then if they were more similar than he originally thought.

She turned back to him, her thin eyebrows rising in mild surprise. "Why?" She inquired simply.

He scratched his head awkwardly and grinned. "Eh, I dunno." He really didn't. He was drawn to her partly because she was a nation, like himself, but she also genuinely interested him.

"I see," she said in that neutral tone of hers, studying him apprehensively. "Do you know what these are called?" She gestured to the ring of stones at their feet.

"Rocks?" He offered, a bit puzzled by her question.

She snorted. "Fairy rings," she corrected, smiling sadly. "It means that sprites are supposed to live nearby." He felt a strange chill when he saw her looking at something that wasn't there. _Maybe she is a little crazy_, he decided.

"Sprites? They aren't very powerful, are they?" Mathias asked, looking around to see if he could find any for himself.

"Not anymore," she said with a sigh, sitting down and spreading her tunic out behind her. "Sometimes I can't see them at all. That new faith is sapping the magic from the land." Again, an indescribable sadness passed over her features, and Mathias couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

"I don't like it either," he agreed, sitting down next to her. "I prefer our gods. Ah, you're wearing the pendant!" He exclaimed, delighted.

She frowned, glancing down at the small silver ornament pinned to the nape of her cloak. "Ah," she said, flushing slightly. "I must have forgotten to take it off. I only took it with me because Emil was playing with it earlier, and I thought he might swallow it by accident."

Mathias laughed. "Where is he, anyway?"

"I left him with one of the servants," Ingrid answered. "Why?"

"I know something that might cheer you up," he said happily, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. She frowned at the physical contact, tugging her hands away.

"I have to go back to Oslo soon," she replied. "We have to make plans—"

"Not today, though," he said with a knowing grin. "I know, because the king told me they weren't leaving town until next week. So you have time to come with me! And Emil too!" He grabbed her hand again and led them back to the meeting hall, ignoring her protests.

Mathias found the tiny Icelandic nation, looking deeply unhappy as a Norwegian woman fussed over him in the dining hall, trying to get him to eat some rather unappealing looking food. Upon seeing the two older nations, the little boy's face brightened considerably. He held out his chubby arms for them impatiently, struggling to get away from the doting servant.

"I'll break you out of here, little man," Mathias said happily, over the servant woman's startled arguments. "I'm going to take you and your sister sailing!"

"Sister?" Ingrid repeated curiously, apparently resigned to the fact that Mathias was taking them away.

"_Ja_! That's what you are, right?" He asked, turning to her with a wide smile. He tucked Emil under his arm like a parcel, laughing at the child's giggling.

"I suppose," she mused, following him out of the meeting hall. "Don't worry, Asfrid. We'll be fine." The older woman didn't look convinced, but she knew better than to argue with the young woman.

"More than fine," Mathias said with a laugh, tugging on her arm with his free hand. "You can worry about being a country later. You need to have fun occasionally."

He didn't turn around, but he could practically feel her frowning at him, and it made him grin. "What makes you think I don't have fun?" She asked crossly, following him down the rocky path to the shore.

"It's just a feeling I have," he said with his customary cheeky grin as he plopped Emil down in the front of the boat. "Come on!"

* * *

"He's too small to fish," Ingrid protested, when Mathias tried to teach Emil how to hold his handcrafted fishing pole.

Mathias ignored her, crouching over the boat's edge with the little boy by his side. He held onto the stick, his own much larger hands covering Emil's, as he held the strong twine over the water. "You have to be very, very quiet," he instructed the little boy in a much softer voice than his usual booming tenor. "Otherwise, you'll scare the fishies away. Do you understand?"

The small Icelandic nation didn't reply, but held tightly onto the pole, staring intently into the water below.

"He will make a good fisherman one day," Mathias said proudly, ruffling Emil's pale hair with his free hand. "He's very quiet and patient."

"I suppose," Ingrid agreed. The Norwegian girl sat in the very back of the boat, a small basket of fresh fish by her feet. The sea breeze had managed to put some color in her pale face, but she looked as impassive as ever, although Mathias counted it as a small victory that he had managed to make her laugh earlier by nearly falling out of the boat.

The pole jerked forward suddenly, and Emil made a small sound of alarm.

"Ha, it's okay, that just means you've caught something," Mathias told him reassuringly, tugging on the pole so that the slick twine emerged from the sea, rivulets of water streaming down towards the large, pink and red fish that hung suspended from the hook.

Emil's eyes widened in excitement, and he let go of the pole, reaching towards his sparkling prize greedily.

"Not yet," Mathias said sternly. "You'll cut yourself on the hook if you're not careful." He took the fishing pole from his charge's chubby hands and laid it down in the carved out hollow of the wooden boat, walking over to where the fish flopped anxiously. "You did well," he said, grinning as he held up the hook. He expertly removed the hook from its lip and held it out, still squirming, to show Emil. "Look at how big it is, Emil!"

Emil regarded it uncertainly, reaching out a tentative hand to pat the fish. It flicked its tail, and the sharp scales cut into his hand. He shrieked and stumbled backwards, landing on his bottom and looking up at Mathias with a heartbreaking expression.

Ingrid sighed deeply, and brushed past Mathias to pick him up. She set him in her lap, patting the small cuts with the hem of her coat, murmuring comforting words to him in Norwegian.

Mathias frowned. "You can't coddle him forever, Ingrid," he said knowingly. He deposited the fish in the woven basket and leaned against the figurehead, arrogantly posed with his forearm resting on the neck of the great wooden dragon carving, one leg propped up on the bench next to Ingrid and Emil. The sea spray bathed his face in a fine mist as the boat lazily drifted through the calm waters of the Norwegian bay. He had originally taken them out here on the bay to fish, one of his favorite activities, but now he just found himself enjoying the beauty of the day. They were less than a mile out from shore; he just wanted to get away from their leaders for awhile. He looked across the cerulean waters and squinted, where he could dimly see the shape of Iceland in the distance, a shadowy island on the horizon. _I shall go there next, _he thought to himself. His people had been to Iceland before, of course, but he hadn't gone, at least not that he could recall. _It would make a fine addition to my kingdom. _

"I'm not coddling him," she replied coolly, glaring up at him from her seat on the wooden bench. "He's only a child. He needs to be protected."

"Yes, but he's also a nation," Mathias pointed out, sitting down on the bench across from her and placing the long oars in his lap. "If you coddle him now, you won't be doing him any favors in the future."

"Actually, I will be doing both of us a favor," she replied acidly, raising a thin blonde eyebrow in disdain. "I will have an obedient, compliant colony, and he will have a protector."

Mathias felt a wave of uneasiness wash over him as the truth behind her words sunk in. Sometimes, it was all too easy to forget what they were. As much as he wanted to disagree, he couldn't argue with her reasoning. He knew that Ingrid cared deeply for Emil, but she also regarded him as her property, of sorts. It made him feel rather nauseous, and yet…and yet. She certainly wasn't the only one having proprietary thoughts about other countries. He didn't meet her eyes as he picked up the oars and dipped them in the water, testing the force of the waves.

He decided to change the subject.

"_Norge_, why doesn't he ever talk?" Mathias queried, staring at the now content child in her lap. Emil stared back at him with his luminous violet eyes.

Ingrid shrugged her slender shoulders, picking up a pair of oars also. "I'm not entirely sure," she murmured. The little nation yawned and snuggled up against her, burying himself in the warmth of her coat. A tiny smile appeared on her face. "I asked a healer about it. She said there's nothing wrong with his voice. He just doesn't like to talk, it seems. Although I've never known a child to speak so late in life." Emil reached up to pat her face affectionately. "He's growing every day, it seems," she continued in a worried undertone. "His people, too. They are spreading across the island. They even sent out expeditions to _Grønland _a few years ago." She began to steer the boat back towards shore, an unreadable expression on her face. "We should head back."

"_Ja_," Mathias agreed, dipping his oars deep in the water and pulling back, loving the way the exercise stretched the muscles in his arms. He loved being on the sea. "I just wanted to give you a chance to get away."

"Get away? From what?" She asked defensively, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Oh, you know. The council," he said dismissively, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I know how tiring it gets, being around your leaders all the time."

"It is my duty," she replied stiffly.

Mathias rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. But that doesn't mean you can't have fun sometimes," he added wisely. Suddenly, a mischievous expression stole across his face, and he reached down and slapped the paddle of the oar hard against the water, violently splashing the girl across from him with sea water.

"What are you doing?" She spluttered angrily. Emil blinked unhappily at him, and for a second they looked so similar, he had to laugh. She retaliated immediately, scooping up a large portion of water with her own paddle and hurling it at him.

"Proving a point," he said, laughing loudly now, splashing her again.

Her mouth formed a thin line of irritation, and she began to mutter something under her breath. Her hands dimly glowed purple with that strange aura that he remembered all too well, and he hastily said, "I was just playing around, _Norge! _Only having fun! You might hurt Emil!" He added desperately, hating how high his voice got all of a sudden.

She smirked, lowering her hands. The menacing aura receded from her, and she looked once again like a normal teenage girl. "That's what I thought," she said smugly. She picked up her oars and resumed rowing, heading towards the small village on the shore.

"You're insane," he grumbled. One day, she would appreciate his humor, he thought decisively. One day she would see what a good friend he was.

When they got back, one of Mathias' men, a messenger from a small town in eastern Denmark, raced up to him before they had barely stepped foot on the shore.

"Where were you?" He demanded impatiently. He was a rather short, stringy man with scraggly blond locks and clothing that hung loosely on his body.

Mathias raised an eyebrow imperiously as he stepped off the boat, carrying a sleeping Emil on his back. "Wherever I wanted to be," he replied arrogantly, lifting his nose slightly in the air. "I would rather you not speak to me in that manner, Jochum."

Jochum flinched a little at his leader's tone. "Sorry, _Chef. _It's just that…you're needed back in Aarhus immediately. I just received a letter from the king's adviser. You must go back to Denmark. Tonight," he added for emphasis.

Mathias scowled. "Is it that urgent? What is it?"

"The letter didn't say."

"Hmph," he grumbled. Gently, he unwound Emil's legs from around his body and handed the sleeping boy back to Ingrid. "Take care of your sister," he whispered to Emil, grinning at Ingrid, who shook her head, smiling a little. "I'll see you in a few weeks." He turned to Jochum with a sigh and thrust the basket of the day's catch into his arms. "Very well. We'll leave tonight, if it's so important." He tied his cloak tightly around his shoulders again and headed towards the Danish boats further down the strand, wondering what was happening in his homeland.

* * *

_Danish_

_Ja- yes_

_Chef- chief_

_Norwegian_

___Grønland - Greenland. The first people to visit Iceland were Irish monks, but the chieftain Ingólfur Arnarson was the first Norwegian to set foot on Iceland in the late 800's. Iceland advanced pretty quickly, establishing a constitution and learning centers within a hundred or two hundred years of Norwegian settlement! _

___Iceland's reluctance to speak isn't related to his history at all. I just imagine him to be a very, very quiet child. But he'll talk eventually, don't worry!_

___Ah yes, Norway lost her claim to England...:c Sad day. In the next three or four hundred years, she'll lose more than England, though...D:_

_Things are going to get dark pretty soon in Danish history, that's all I'm going to say._


	6. Hello, Old Friend

**A/N: I almost discontinued this story, but I started reading a college AU about the Nordics and remembered how much I loved them, especially my darling Denmark. But alas...this is where the story starts to get a little sadder.**

* * *

Eleventh century, Aarhus, Denmark.

A week later, Mathias found himself in a comfortable, if dimly lit pub, in Aarhus, sitting at the bar and sipping a mug of beer, swinging his feet absently. Although he appeared young—no more than sixteen—he had recently decided to try and grow out his facial hair to appear older, but so far he had nothing more than a slight—_very _slight—peach fuzz. He sloppily wiped the beer foam from his upper lip and said grandly, "Another!"

The barkeep eyed the young man warily, wiping down the counter where Mathias had previously devoured an entire leg of boar by himself, along with three potatoes and a small cake. "Ye sure? That'll be your third, young master."

"My fourth, actually," Mathias said, smirking. "Now, please!"

Shrugging, the disheveled-looking bartenderdisappeared to the barrel of beer in the back.

Mathias surveyed the interior of the pub. It wasn't his favorite—his favorite was the Fighting Dane, located down the street, but it had recently gone out of business, despite his faithful patronage—but they did serve pretty good beer, and the cooking was excellent, and fairly cheap. Additionally, it was known to be much quieter, without all the fighting he was accustomed to hearing in the background. It was also a good place to people watch, one of Mathias' favorite activities. He had always been very nosy, even as a small child, and liked to try to guess where visitors were from before he heard them speak. However, he was here today on business. The king had insisted on his meeting with a Swedish ambassador from Malmö on urgent business. Mathias sighed, and attempted to drink the rest of his empty mug of beer. As annoyed as he was at having to leave Norway early, he couldn't help but feel that he had been shirking his duties as a leader lately. He thought about how the Scandinavian countries had been beaten back by that tiny, upstart country they were calling England, and how there were rumors that the Kingdom of Sweden was unifying, growing stronger, expanding…

His own king made no small matter of that, telling him off in front of the entire Danish court upon his return home like he was a child, for not doing enough to further the kingdom. He, Mathias Køhler, the mighty Kingdom of Denmark! The very idea of it made him snort with derision. Was that foolish man so naïve that he didn't realize that he wouldn't even exist if not for him? _I _am _Denmark_, he thought rebelliously, picking at the leftovers of his potato on the filthy plate before him. _No one tells me how to run my country. _But he thought of how serious Ingrid had been about being parted from her leaders for even a moment, and couldn't help but feel a sliver of chagrin. _Well, we can't all be as fun-sucking as the Norwegians_, he thought to himself consolingly. _I can beat up those Frankish bastards. I can do a lot of things. I am doing my job, dammit!_

The bartender returned and placed the mug before him.

"Ah, thank you, my good man," Mathias said jovially, trying to make his voice sound deeper than usual. He still remembered how hard Ingrid had laughed at him only a few months ago when his voice cracked. He took out some coins from his pocket to pay, but a deep, lightly accented voice said from behind him, "It's on me."

Mathias swiveled around on his stool and gazed up at the tall stranger, dressed in a heavy burgundy traveling cloak with the hood pulled up over his head, despite the fact that it was summer and they were indoors. Mathias stood up slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. The man was even taller than he first appeared; Mathias himself was quite tall for someone of his apparent age, but this man was even taller. He had broad shoulders, and he walked with a slight limp, Mathias noticed. His eyes flickered over his face uncertainly, trying to discern the features within the shadows. "Thank you," he said, frowning slightly. "What are you hiding for, stranger? You're among friends here."

The stranger pushed back the ermine-trimmed hood and smiled down at him slightly. "Hullo, Mathias."

Mathias' jaw dropped.

"Berwald?" He exclaimed, his eyes raking over the hard planes of the young man's face, the deep-set indigo eyes he remembered so well in a face that looked considerably more mature. How was he so…old? The last time Mathias had seen him, he stood at least two hands shorter than him, and now…well. He was quite a bit taller than Mathias would care to admit. But why? It made him rather uneasy. And yet, he couldn't help but grin, his chest bursting with emotions as he reached out to clasp him on the shoulder, unwilling to hug his old friend in front of so many curious strangers. It had been nearly two centuries since he had seen him. "You sly bastard! They told me a Swedish ambassador was coming, not you!"

"I'm an ambassador," his friend replied with that slight, crooked smile, looking genuinely pleased. Well, as pleased as Berwald ever did. He had approximately two expressions on any given day, Mathias thought fondly. But damn, he could not get over how tall he was, or how deep his voice was. It was actually pretty unfair, Mathias thought glumly, that Berwald should shoot up so much more quickly than him. "I'll buy your next beer, _bror_. That is, if you're old enough to drink," he added teasingly, sitting back down.

Berwald snorted slightly. "I reckon I look older than you do, now," he remarked in his oddly clipped voice, smirking a little.

"I'm old enough to be your father, so you can shut up," Mathias retorted, slamming down his fourth beer with gusto. "How have you been, huh? Did you seem some sights? Shag some foreign girls, get some gold?" He waggled his eyebrows, leaning forward over the counter. He was especially keen on the shagging details.

Berwald looked rather uncomfortable for a moment. "Eh…no to the first…I did acquire quite a bit of wealth…started some colonies in Kiev. Went to the Baltic and saw some strange things…got in a few fights." He gestured with his left leg. "Nearly lost my leg to a bear…or something…up there on an expedition. It's dark there in the winter, very dark…" He mused, his eyes clouding over in thought. For some reason, his words chilled Mathias. He didn't like the look in his eyes.

"No shagging though," Mathias said cheerfully, changing the subject. "I'm ashamed to call you my brother. I hear in those warmer climates, down south, the women don't even wear pants during the summer—"

"You're as civilized as I remember," Berwald remarked mildly, taking a calm sip of his beer. "What have you been up to, then? Besides drinking and shagging women, of course."

"That's actually it," Mathias replied with false modesty, shrugging his shoulders. "I have my priorities, you see." He had never actually shagged anyone, but he wouldn't admit that to Berwald, especially now that he was all manly and intimidating now. He would also never admit thinking _that _to him.

"Mmhmm," the Swede replied with a slight smile. "Still following _Norge_ around?"

"All the time," Mathias replied automatically, a cocky expression coming over his face. "And I don't _follow her around. _We're good friends now. Have you talked to her?" He added, surprised, narrowing his eyes a little. It had never occurred to him that the other Scandinavian countries might communicate with each other, although now he was kicking himself for not realizing it. Even if Ingrid and Berwald didn't communicate, surely their leaders did. They were neighboring countries, after all.

Berwald nodded. "Ja. I've kept in contact with her about the new land we both border, the one no one has laid claim to yet."

"Eh…the backwards one?" Mathias inquired, scratching his head. He actually hadn't been north of Sodankyla in…well, many decades. He knew there was an untamed land up there by the sea that bordered both Norway and Sweden, but as it was so cold, scarcely populated, and mostly forest, he hadn't been too interested as of yet.

"It's not backwards," Berwald returned, frowning slightly. "They call it…Finland. I have started colonizing it. I think it will make a good addition to Sweden."

Mathias frowned, unconsciously tightening his grip on his beer. Talk of conquest always made him tense slightly, made his blood pulse a little more quickly. For the first time in awhile, he became aware of how lethargic he had become, and he frowned when he realized that not everyone had been as lax as he. "Really," he said conversationally. "Have you met with Finland yet?"

"Eh…y'mean the actual country?" Berwald looked a trifle uncomfortable for some reason.

"Yeah. What's he like? I've never met him in person. I sent an expedition up there a few decades ago, but there wasn't much besides trees and reindeer…" _I see now that I'll have to fix that_, he thought, frowning, but his friend didn't notice.

Berwald paused, his dark eyes unfathomable in the dingy tavern light. He placed his square jaw on his folded hands, staring pensively at the bar keeper, who shrunk away under the young man's unintentionally frightening gaze. "He's a little fella," he said finally. "Not full grown. Maybe this high." He held up his hand at about his chest. "I don't think he's done growing yet. Fair hair, like sunlight." He smiled slightly, lost in thought. "And strange eyes. They change color. And he moves so fast, like a little fae. I thought he was a wood sprite at first, come to curse me." He chuckled slightly. "I tried to talk to him, but he ran away. I'm going to one of the bigger settlements in the south, outside of Turku. Maybe I'll speak with him then." It was an unusually long conversation for the taciturn Swede, but Mathias attributed it to the fact that they hadn't seen each other in so many years.

"Huh," he said, trying not to sound too interested. "Well. I attacked the Frisians while you were gone. It was pretty fun."

"I see."

"Yeah. I've got a pretty badass navy now, you know."

"Int'resting."

"Damn right it is."

The two young men regarded each other apprehensively, the competitive air between them palpable. They were friends, yes, but as the conversation continued, it also became glaringly apparent that they were rivals as well. The notion left a bitter taste in Mathias' mouth, but it wasn't like this was new to him. He just hoped that nothing more would come of it.

"Well, Berwald," he said finally, getting to his feet, "I have a meeting with the blacksmith about a new sword." Berwald smirked at his posturing but said nothing. "It was good to see you again." The words rang out oddly hollow, and Mathias' heart ached at the sound, even though he did mean it. But as he surveyed the young man before him, he realized that to maintain this friendship would be more costly now than ever, and he noted with a sinking heart that Berwald was studying him, too. Measuring him with those guarded eyes, taking note of his powerful forearms and deceptively friendly eyes and the thin scar at his hairline from when he hit his head swimming with Berwald all those years ago.

"I see," the younger nation repeated, only a tinge of sadness coloring his deep voice. "Th'nks for meeting with me, Mathias. The king said that you'll be in Malmö next week, _ja_?"

"Wouldn't miss a chance to show you up," Mathias replied with a wink, slapping him on the back. "Take care, _Sverige." _He turned his back on the young man quickly, tugging on his outer cloak and rushing out of the tavern, feeling rather queasy and angry and elated all at once.

He had a meeting to go to, but it wasn't with his blacksmith.

He needed to speak with his king.

* * *

_Please R&R if you liked it! uwu_

_I forgot how much I liked writing Berwald. I cannot wait to actually write SuFin. But that won't be for awhile; Sweden doesn't really control Finland until the twelfth century, and even then, it's not like Tino would like him right away. Poor Berwald. He doesn't mean to be scary. _

_Hehe. And now he's bigger than Mathias. _

_That makes me so much happier than it should._


End file.
